The girl who counted
by wishingitwasadream
Summary: Set straight after 'His Last Vow'. Moriarty is back and this time he doesn't underestimate Bart's quiet and unassuming pathologist Molly Hooper. He plans on playing a new game with Sherlock Holmes, one that will ultimately ruin him for good. Sherlolly
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock practically rolled his eyes as his brother spoke, staring out the small window of the private jet. "I've only been gone four minutes," he stated.

Mycroft leaned back into the plush leather seat, a pleasant smile gracing his features. "Well, I certainly hope you've learned your lesson. As it turns out, you're needed."

It had taken the pilot less than 5 minutes to land the plane and open the door for the impatient younger Holmes brother. John and Mary held sullen looks on their face as Sherlock practically skipped down the stairs, "Did you miss me?" He smirked, stopping a foot in front of them. Mary paled slightly at his words and glanced at her husband who held a tight smile on his face.

"Sherlock, time is off the essence," Mycroft stated, rolling his eyes at his younger brother's theatrics and thrust his phone in Sherlock's direction. The audio was loud and clear, Sherlock froze for a moment before confirming his deduction.

"It seems that I'm not the only one who faked their death," Sherlock muttered under his breath. "Raise the security level for John, Mary, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson immediately," he commanded.

"Already done brother mine, don't fret your-" Mycroft paused for a moment, "friends" he said with contempt, "will be safe,"

"Sherlock, what about Molly," Mary added softly, looking at him meaningfully.

Sherlock looked down at the pregnant woman and gave what he hoped would be a placating smile. "Molly Hooper is safe I assure you, she is at St. Bart's presently and Moriarty has no reason to assume her importance has increased since the last time he threatened everyone's lives."

"But it has though hasn't it?" John questioned his best friend, "She does matter to you, right?" He was unsure and somewhat concerned about the answer he would receive.

"Of course, in any case we shall go and visit her at St. Bart's to determine her security level, I will secure and ensure her safety myself if need be John," Sherlock stated hoping to please his best friend who nodded in response as the three got into the sleek black car. Staring out the tinted black window, Sherlock refused to think about the danger Molly Hooper would be in, the danger that was due to him. John and Mary needn't know how high Sherlock's concern was, they didn't have to know that Sherlock would revel in being her security, to finally repay her for everything she'd ever done for him.

Mycroft sat beside Anthea in the other vehicle and frowned, despite Moriarty's elusiveness he knew it would only be a matter of time before he resurfaced in person and he hoped that Sherlock was ready.

* * *

They saw the consulting detective before he got out the car. The taller man looked to his right almost frantically as he stopped shoving his captive in the back of the black cab. The shorter of the two smirked as he watched the sleek black car stop in front of the hospital. His eyes held a crazy glint as he motioned for Moran to get into the cab. "The trick is to hide in plain sight Moran," He sang as pulled away from the curb, setting his plan into motion.

When the car pulled up in front of St. Bart's Sherlock knew something was amiss. Flipping up the collar of his Belstaff he strode into the hospital, John and Mary trailing behind as he followed the all too familiar route to the mortuary. A frown was etched upon his features as he noticed the light was not on in the corridors ahead. Picking up speed in his stride he bolted forwards, almost running to reach the lab.

"Sherlock, hold up! Pregnant woman here," John called out to his best friend as he held his panting wife.

"Go on, I'll be fine John. He looks frantic, he needs you right now," Mary commented, pushing her husband to follow the detective. "I'll wait here," she said simply giving him a peck on the lips before sitting down slowly on a vacated plastic chair. John nodded and ran after Sherlock only coming to a halt as he reached the final corner. His heart stopped for a moment as he controlled his breathing and edged closer to the Lab. Sherlock was on his knees clutching a familiar lab coat which was stained in splatters of blood; John didn't need to be a detective to know that the blood was Dr Molly Hooper's.

When he finally reached the Lab he looked around at the chaos, experiments were overturned; glass vials and testing tubes were shattered strewn across the table tops and linoleum flooring. Small drops of blood were mixed with the shattered glass where he realised Molly had come into contact. He knew the signs of a struggle.

By the time John had looked around the room and then back at his best friend, Sherlock had composed himself, becoming the cold hard man everyone was used to. "Clear signs of a struggle, there were one; no two men in here but only one attacked Miss Hooper." John frowned at Sherlock's words. "But, oh wait. This is smart, so clever! It has him written all over it," Sherlock was bouncing around the room now, adrenaline coursing through his veins. His eye lit up in what John read as delight, "Made this difficult, and it's a game John." He finally faced his companion, but John wasn't smiling his face was drained of emotion and he stared up at Sherlock with cold hard eyes.

"Sorry, did you say game? Are you shitting me right now Sherlock?" His voice was controlled but the ferocity was evident. A foreign emotion crossed Sherlock's face at that moment; he was suddenly reminded of the previous occasions in which John had been so furious. "Molly is gone, she could be dead for all we know and you're prancing around like it's a game."

Sherlock span on his heel, staring out of the window his back to John. "I-" But his words were cut off by a gasp. John turned an inch realising his wife had finally made her way to the men. Her face was pale as she looked at the sight before her.

"Oh my… What… Where's Molly?" Mary's usual calm demeanour had altered greatly since the beginning of her pregnancy, her hormones ran wild constantly and at that moment she feared nothing more than the safety of her friend. She didn't let anyone answer before she glared at Sherlock accusingly. "You said she'd be safe! You said he wouldn't suspect her importance had changed! You didn't even give her a guard Sherlock!" Mary was furious, her words streaming out of her.

Sherlock stilled, before his eyes narrowed in on Mary, "You think I don't know that. You think I planned this?" He stepped forward menacingly, his own anger at his miscalculations fuelling his annoyance towards Mary. She stood her ground and John inched forwards putting a protective hand on Mary's forearm. Sherlock noticed the small gesture and paled, he felt sick, disgusted at himself before fleeing the room.

A few tears trickled down Mary's face as John pulled his wife into an embrace, "she'll be fine Mary, and he'll find her. I promise. He's just scared, he won't admit it but he is."

* * *

Days later Molly lay on the cold, hard ground her body soaked in tears, sweat and blood. She ached all over yet she knew the worst was still yet to come. He himself hadn't harmed her and she realised that whatever he would do would be the final blow. She hadn't moved since her last beating, her muscles were beginning to tense and stiffen up but she was scared to move. She just wanted it to be over. She wanted to be saved. She wanted him, she wanted Sherlock.

But her hope in him was fading, slowly ebbing away with each breath she took. He wasn't coming; if he was he would have been here by now. He would have found her already had she been John, Mary, Mrs Hudson or Greg. She winced as her brow furrowed in pain and let out a dry sob. She knew she never counted but it had taken this experience to realise how true that fact was.

The room lit up in blazing white light and Molly cowered away, using her battered left arm to shield her eyes. Footsteps echoed in the room, in a slow rhythmic pace accompanied by a low hum that became an octave higher every other step. The sounds from the man were in stark contrast to the shallow fearful breaths of Molly Hooper who was now clenching her eyes shut.

"Let me see those beautiful brown irises," he whispered in a sing song voice as he came to a halt by Molly's body. "Come on Molly, show me your lovely eyes," he coaxed; she did not relent making him furious. "I said, look at me!" He screamed, pulling her arm roughly away from her face.

She cried out as her arm hit the concrete ground and her eyes flew open in shock. His eyes gleamed in response, taking in the sight of her dilated pupils that shone with fear and helplessness. "Losing hope are we? But why? What happened to the pathologist I met 6 days ago? Where's she gone?" He taunted menacingly staring down at the broken pathologist. He knew his words would force her to think about her spiral into helplessness.

_Molly gasped, freezing at the sight of the man before her. Her pulse quickened in fear and she could practically hear her heartbreak pumping in her_ ears._ He smirked, taking a small but menacing step forward towards the pathologist. She opened her mouth to speak but was unable to get his name out of her mouth._

_Before she could register what occurred he was in front of her, his hands clamped onto either side of her face, holding her still. "Did you think you could get away with it?" he whispered, staring into her eyes, his gaze piercing into her soul, anger seething from every pore of his body. Her eyes widened, her body paralysed with panic and fear. He was pleased with her reaction because her let his hands drop suddenly and moved back into the shadows._

_"I must say, I was foolish to underestimate you," he admitted studying the fingernails on his left hand, not even looking at her._

_Molly didn't say anything, instead gathered up what was left of her courage and took a step back into the lab. Whatever he was here for he wouldn't get, she'd make sure of it. Her mind flitted through the lab inventory and settled on anything that could be used as a weapon; a scalpel._

_"Molly, my love stop trying to figure out a way to escape, especially when we're having such a lovely chat," he grinned, full set of teeth on display. His eyes glistened as she froze once again. "Mousy Molly, trying to escape the clutches of James Moriarty, how stupid."_

_"I'm not stupid," she managed to choke out in what she hoped was above a whisper._

_"Oh, of course not. No you're more than that; you're helplessly in love with a man who wouldn't look twice at you. A man who sees you as part of the scenery: wallpaper. I could see it when I first read your pathetic little blog, you were always waiting – hoping – praying – that he would notice you, that maybe that extra bit of perfume or that darker shade of lipstick would attract his attention."_

_"It's not like that anymore," she whispered, shaking her head._

_"It isn't?" He said in a daze, looking around the room mockingly._

_"No, I matter to him. I do count."_

_"Oh Molly, sweet sweet delicate Molly," he chided. "Do you know where he is right this moment?" He asked rhetorically, his eyes darkened as he continued holding her gaze. "He's saying his goodbyes to John and Mary," Molly frowned, staring at Moriarty in sheer confusion. He mock gasped, putting his hand to his mouth. "Oh, did he forget to mention that he was being extradited? Did he forget to say goodbye to his mousy Molly?"_

_"No," she gasped in a disbelieving tone, "he would have said goodbye," she stated more forcefully shaking her head._

_"No," he mocks her, copying her motion. "He would have said goodbye," his voice is frantic, yet jovial as he mocked her._

_Molly felt the tears well up in her eyes, she could see the glaze at the bottom of her eye lids but she refused let him see her cry._

_"Well, to be fair he's probably off the plane by now. Back to civility."_

_Molly squeezed her eyes shut, her hands clutched at either side of her small body._

_"He's probably seen the message I broadcasted, Molly you'd love it, really."_

_She tried to block out his voice as she took another step back into the lab. A small chime sounded and she peered up to see Moriarty grinning at his phone._

_"Oh, and he's asked for a security level increase for the following, 'John, Mary, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade' and would you look at that, no mention of Dr. Molly Hooper." He said jovially as his eyes danced with mirth at her obvious pain._

_"Come along Molly, you'll be coming with me," he said abruptly as he motioned to the door._

_"What? No!" She exclaimed, moving further back into the lab. She felt determined and her courage seemed to return despite her broken heart. Once again his eyes lit up as he smirked at Molly. He didn't make a move to coerce her and she took her chance._

_Spinning on her heel she ran around the table only to come to a halt at the sight of a taller man with a bigger build. He smirked at her before looking to Moriarty for instruction. Moriarty winked at his accomplice as Molly grabbed the empty test tunes on the desk. She threw them at the man and attempted to escape during the distraction but he didn't even flinch as the tubes came crashing around him._

_Molly Hooper was scared, more scared than she had been in her whole entire existence. The larger man grabbed her arm and pulled her into him, she writhed against his grip before she kneed him in his abdomen. He growled pushing her away from him as he clutched his stomach. She fell backwards in a heap on the shattered glass and felt the little pieces of glass pierce her skin. She gasped at the stinging pain, feeling woozy at the sight of her own warm blood. Still on the floor she backed away spreading blood across her lab coat._

_Moran quickly recovered and stepped forwards menacingly, grabbing the top of her jumper to haul her up. He twisted her around, keeping his left arm firmly across her neck and her back against his chest. Moriarty grinned like the Cheshire cat as he clapped patronisingly. "Great escape attempt my dear," he watched her chest heave and body shake. "Make sure you leave the lab coat here," he said after a moment, staring at Moran. Molly felt him nod as his chin grazed her hair._

_"He'll find you! Sherlock will find you," she sobbed, though neither of the two men listened._

_Moran's grip loosened only slightly as he ripped off her lab coat unceremoniously and let it fall to the ground. Tears were flowing freely down Molly's face as she struggled against his strong, death like hold._

_"Let me go!" She screamed, hoping anyone would hear her, she repeated this twice more before Moriarty lost his patience and she felt a stinging sensation across her cheek as he face was whipped sideways._

_"Ta-ta for now!" Moriarty exclaimed with a flourish as the sharp sting of metal pierced her skin. Molly was frozen in horror and abject fear, trying to control the shaking that rocked her body as her eye sight and body failed her. Her mind and body started to become limp in Moran's arms and she could feel the darkness closing in on her. Before she could drown into unconsciousness her pleas were focused on one man. Sherlock Holmes._

She was suddenly pulled back into the present as a searing pain made her scream out in agony. "Shh Molly," he soothed "I'm just adding the final touches before I let you go home my love," His words did not help; she writhed underneath him as the blade continued to scar her skin. Molly's screams echoed across the walls, bouncing around the room as she pounded the ground with the arm Moriarty was not slicing. The screaming and defacing of Molly's skin continued for what felt like hours until her voice became hoarse, screaming had subdued and she was reduced to a sobbing mess, exhaustion was taking over her and the darkness was closing in once again.


	2. Chapter 2

John Watson stared at the world's only consulting detective a look of annoyance and pity gracing his features. It had been a whole week and Sherlock Holmes was no closer to finding Molly, he'd ransacked the whole flat looking for his cigarettes but only managed to find an already used one. Sherlock was furiously running his fingers through his mop of hair grumbling under his breath; John took a hesitant step forward, coughing out loud to make his presence known.

Sherlock's head snapped up at the sound, "Ah John, just the man I wanted to see," he stood up and rubbed his fingers over his chin. "I need you to run to St. Barts and get Molly's coat." John opened his mouth to object, Sherlock bounded up to his blogger with wild hands explained, "Yes John, I know I've already run tests on it but there has to be something, anything,"

"Yeah sure, but listen I came here to-" he was cut off by his friend.

"Yes, yes I know. You came because Mary apologised for getting angry at me. Tell her that the apology was not necessary, she was right." Sherlock turned and faced the window, "It is all my fault."

"Sherlock that's not true," John tried to placate.

"John, don't patronize me," he snapped in response, stalking to his bedroom, his dressing gown floating behind him like a cape. John sighed and shook his head as he left 221b to make his way to St Bart's. The ride to the morgue in the cab was taxing, it was the height of rush hour in London and the roads were gridlocked. John sat forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees as he texted his wife. The birth of their daughter was imminent and he knew the stress of Molly's disappearance was draining Mary more than she would care to admit. He knew she felt helpless and so tried to keep her involved as much as possible.

**Going to Barts, Sherlock ****wants to check the labcoat again – John**

She replied seconds later, her phone, he deduced, was most probably in her hands,

**Maybe he could check the ****colouring? Xx – Mary**

He frowned, about to reply when another text arrived.

**Stupid suggestion I know. ****Did he accept my apology? –Mary**

**No, he said you had every right ****to say what you did – John**

**How's he coping? – Mary**

**He's not, I just got to Bart's. ****I'll let you know how it goes – John**

He didn't wait for her reply as he made his way through to the hospital basement. The morgue was quiet; the whole area in which Molly usually dwelled was closed off with police tape. John ducked underneath and headed further inside the lab flicking on the lights as he passed the wall. The lab coat was nowhere to be seen and sighed in frustration, pulling out his phone to ring Sherlock as he walked further into the morgue absentmindedly. He looked up for a moment, his thumb over the call symbol. "Oh my-" he barely managed to breath out as he stuffed his phone in his pocket and ran into the body viewing room.

The matted brown hair was unmistakeable, though John edged forwards hesitantly staring at the covered body in horror. A thick white sheet covered the victim's body and face yet he could tell that the body underneath was still fully clothed. He inched forwards, hoping and praying that it wasn't Molly. Taking a deep breath he pulled the sheet back, what he saw before him froze him in his movements.

"No, no no. Molly, no!" He cried out his face draining of blood, with shaking hands he placed his hand at the crook of her bruised face feeling for any sign of life near her jugular. The weakest throb was emitted from beneath his fingers and he sighed in relief. He stared at the fragile woman, his stomach turning at the sight of the multi-coloured bruises and scarring he could see on her body. And though she was fully clothed- probably for dramatics on Moriaty's part- he knew that the worst of it was beneath the clothing. "Molly, can you hear me?" he spoke delicately when he noticed the slight twitching for her forefinger and thumb. "Molly, its John, you're safe now,"

Her eyes didn't flutter open, but rather squeezed shut, tighter as if to block out the world. John felt helpless, yet continued to console the broken girl. After 10 minutes she had drifted back into unconsciousness and he managed to lift her limp form up from the metallic operating table to find help. Mike Stamford dropped all the files in his hand the moment he saw John carrying the pathologist in his arms down the corridor.

"Get help," John barked out and Mike turned on his heel to find someone, John kept walking until he reached the elevator. At that moment the doors opened and a bed was wheeled out, along with a doctor and two nurses. They coaxed Molly out of his arms and placed her on the mattress before wheeling her up to intensive care. It was then that John felt the first tear betray his strong façade; Mike placed a hand on his shoulder and nodded.

"She's safe now, John," he told him firmly. "Tell them she's safe," he added before walking back down the corridor to pick up the fallen files. He fumbled with the phone as he dialled the number.

"John?" Hearing the voice of his wife he smiled and wiped the lone tear, Mike was right, she was safe now. He explained what had occurred and she arrived twenty minutes later, holding her hand firmly in his. He rang Lestrade next, telling him that the search was off. Mary rang Mrs Hudson who cried on the phone. Sherlock didn't answer the call the first, second, nor third time John had ran and he was becoming agitated. The man had his phone with him at all hours of the day, so why wasn't he answering. Noticing her husband's agitation she squeezed his hand and led him to the chairs outside Molly's ward.

Sherlock was holding the phone to his ear with a vice like grip as soon as he heard the man's taunting voice. John had just left to go Bart's when his mobile rang, the screen flashing, no name on the caller id. "Hello honey,"

Sherlock tensed visibly, his jaw locking, "where is she? What have you done to her?" Sherlock growled.

"Who? Molly?" He didn't wait for Sherlock's reply, "she's lying on a metal table somewhere, and she'll be fine, though she'll probably be scarred for life." James Moriarty chuckled at his private joke. "Oh Sherlock, you should have seen her defend you, defend herself, but that was nothing compared to her screaming and writhing in pain beneath-"

"Stop it! Stop this now! Tell me where she is!" Sherlock shouted ferociously. Moriarty paid him no mind.

"Where was I? Ah yes, writhing in pain beneath me, watching as she slowly began to lose hope in you Sherlock Holmes." His hands were shaking by now and he wanted to throw the phone at the wall, but Moriarty laughed manically. "What's wrong Sherlock?"

"You, you're what's wrong!"

Moriarty giggled, "that's old news," he sang, "my my, is Sherlock Holmes feeling guilty? Does Sir Boast-a-lot actually have, dare I say it, feelings for the mousy pathologist?"

"She's not mousy!"

"Yeah, whatever, listen this chat has been oh so enlightening and stimulating my dear but I'm honestly rather bored, and I believe that Molly has been found. I rather look forward to continuing our game, may the best man win." Before Sherlock could argue, Moriarty ended the phone call and Sherlock brought the phone away from his ear and stared at it.

It rang again and he hastily picked it up, "Sherlock, I've called you 9 times in the last twenty minutes, where the hell are you!" John's tense voice reprimanded as Sherlock headed out the door and bounded down the stairs, "Doesn't matter, I found her Sherlock, she's in intensive care, she's," John's voice broke and Sherlock heard Mary offer her husband a few tender words.

Sherlock was already in the cab, on the way to Bart's when John managed to speak again, "She was heavily beaten; we're waiting for the doctors to do an internal examination to see the damage." He took another deep breath as Sherlock stared out the window deep in thought, fear rising in him. "It's all our fault, we should have found her sooner. She was just lying there on the examination table, underneath the white sheet like another one of the corpses. I thought she was dead, she looked dead."

"It's not your fault John, its mine," Sherlock told him solemnly as he paid the driver and exited the cab. He ended the call at that moment and stood outside Bart's, staring at the foreboding building. He walked through the crowded hallways, dodging the running nurses and the frantic visitors. He arrived by the ward 5 minutes later, just in time to see the Doctor make his way to Mary, John and Lestrade.

"Are you Miss Hooper's family?" He asked, eying the three of them. Mary, as quick as ever stood up and smiled at the doctor.

"She's my sister," Mary stated, "is she going to be okay?" Sherlock slinked closer to his friends and listened to the doctor.

"She's got many fractured and broken ribs; her right arm has been severely scarred and she also has severe internal bleeding but we are currently getting that under control. She is currently in a medically induced coma due to her malnourishment and exhaustion. We will have to wait until she has woken to come to a conclusion in regards to her mental state but I can say she will be in severe shock, maybe even PTSD." The doctor watched as the faces of his patient's friends dropped, on all, including the tall man who had appeared out of nowhere, there was pain and guilt. He hated bearing bad news, but it was a part of his job. "She should be out of ICU in a few hours and may receive visitors though she will be unconscious," He added hoping to ease the pain.

"Please move her to a private room or ward," Sherlock's deep baritone voice cut through the foreboding silence. John whirled around in shock and stared at his best friend.

"I'll make sure that happens," The doctor agreed and nodded to them before leaving.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Before I begin I want to thank everyone who has read and reviewed and favourited and followed! It means so much to me because I seriously didn't think that anyone would even read this, let alone like it! So thank you once again!**

* * *

Sherlock lurked in the corner of her room, watching the small but frequent movement of her chest. He'd been lurking there since she was admitted to hospital two days ago and only left the room when she would break into consciousness. On those frequent occasions he slipped out the room silently ensuring that she never saw him. It was an advantage on his part that she was always dazed and disorientated when she awoke. He couldn't bare to see her in pain, especially knowing it was his fault. John and Mary were frequent visitors to, somehow always managing to be present when she woke up.

He dared to take a step closer to her sleeping and sedated form. His eyes travelled along her bruised body, across her bandaged arm finally resting on her beaten face. It was times like these he hated his ability to deduce so reverently. He sank to the floor, in his mind, an image of her broken body was etched. He could see the force, the length and the strength, that the man used to create the bruises on her skin.

He understood the surge of pain he felt to an extent as he stared up at her from his position on the ground. He knew it was sentiment. The one thing he claimed to know not of, the thing he tried to desperately ignore and pretend that it was not engrained into his heart. But it's there, it lived within his heart and mind. Sherlock feared it, he feared the rejection, the loss he will get because of it. He wanted to run, leave Molly's bedside and pretend he doesn't know her enough to care. He wanted to be able to lock up the guilt, lock up the care.

He hated that the small broom cupboard he used to have for Molly in his mind palace is now a whole floor. He hated that she's always there for him, always. He hated that she's always in his mind flitting about. He hated that he trusts her and that she counts. Because that part of him knew that when Molly woke up she'll realise that it was a mistake to help him, to care for him...

To love him.

She'll look down at her bruised and battered body and realise that he isn't worth it. She'll think to her captivity and hate that Sherlock put her in that position. She'll hate him and all he's done to her.

He couldn't fathom what made him feel so hurt by the thought of her rejection. Was it because she was the only one, apart from The Woman, who had expressed true interest in him? Was it because she was one of the only constants in his life? He finally came to the conclusion that it was because she didn't deserve any of this, because she was all he had left once John had his baby and no longer needed him. It was she who he could break constantly and she'd still be there the next time he needed her.

His fingers trembled as they hovered over her petite hand. He realised it was the first time he willingly touched her barring the few occasions in which he'd kissed her cheek or she'd slapped him. He could feel the heat radiating off the tips of her fingers before he placed his hand within her own.

The warmth spread across his fingertips and slowly crept up, fully enclosing his hand. He let out the breath he didn't realise he was holding, only it came out as more of a sob. "I'm so sorry, Molly Hooper," he managed to choke out before fleeing from the room, her hand falling limply against the hospital bed.

She awoke an hour later, bringing her hand into her lap. She stared at it for a few moments before shaking her head and turning to face John. He handed her a glass of water which she took appreciatively, smiling slightly as a thank you to the man.

"So, the doctor has said that you'll be free to leave tonight. The internal bleeding has been sorted, he said you'll feel a bit fatigued but that's only due to the stress and trauma placed upon your body." John explained, Molly however was staring at her hands once more. A sad smile graced his features and he hesitantly placed his close to her own, not close enough to be touching. She didn't look up or at his hand, still in her own mind.

He'd suffered PTSD himself and could see that Molly was probably on a verge of a breakdown. She needed support but he also knew that she had to ask for it. She had to want it.

"Molly, you're safe now. I promise."

She blinked once, moving her hands, only to pull the thin blanket closer around her body like a shield.

"Everyone's worried and they're going to be there for you, anytime, any place Molly. We all love you," he tried, only to once again receive no response or recognition.

"He's been here you know, he's been sitting here just watching you. He's worried sick, he's been playing his violin at those ungodly hours and shooting at his bloody wall. He's furious that we didn't find you Molly. Sherlock feels defeated." It was his name that caused her to stir. The mention of his name caused the sadness to be on full display. He saw the tears well up in her eyes and was annoyed that he didn't get the reaction and response he wanted from her.

Molly gripped the blanket tighter, hoping that it would protect her from her internal depression and conflict. She wanted to hate him, she wanted to despise the man for allowing this to occur. But no matter how low she fell, no matter how depressed or angry or sad she was, she couldn't blame him. Because she knew that even if she was warned about Moriarty and the consequences of helping Sherlock, she would have still done it. She would have still saved his life. Because in all honesty she wasn't only depressed about what she had been through, she was depressed because he left with no goodbye. He left and didn't think she was meaningful enough to tell.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see John's mouth moving, his words however were inconceivable. He gestured wildly before slumping in the chair beside her bed, his head in his hands. She tried to speak, tried to apologise for not understanding, tried to apologise for worrying both him and Mary. She wanted to tell him to go home to his wife and get some rest. She wanted to do so much more but she couldn't. Her mind refused access to her voice and she knew she was entrapped within her mind.

A doctor came in twenty minutes later, smiling warmly at John who was now mumbling about Mary and his work to a silent Molly. John looked up before standing and shaking the doctors hand.

"Molly, I'll be outside," Molly's eyes flickered to the sandy haired man for a second as he reassured her. She blinked in a form of agreement and he smiled leaving the room.

"Hello Doctor Hooper, I'm Doctor Harding," the tall woman said before sitting on the beside chair, her face level with Molly's. Molly however didn't respond, but rather kept her eyes focused on her hands in a daze. "I want to do a quick check up before we discharge you,"

The silence in the room was telling. Doctor Harding knew that Molly was in dire need of therapy.

"I'm not a doctor that deals with physical issues but rather psychological ones. I know you've been through an ordeal and we need to ensure that your mental safety is secured." Molly didn't make any movement or sound to suggest she was listening. "Molly, it's going to be difficult but the best way for us to deal with this is to talk," her voice became firmer, she demanded attention, Molly however seemed to disagree.

She knew she was physically still confined to her small bed within the hospital but her mind was elsewhere. She was in a small dark room, cowering in the corner. Her knees were brought up to her chest. The door was close enough to see but too far to reach. A small ray of light streamed through the tiny window of the door, bringing with it the muffled sounds of the outside world.

"Molly? Molly can you hear me? Dr Hooper!" The voice was becoming louder, more frantic. Molly wanted to shout out, call for help but she was stuck in the corner. Panic took over her body and her breaths became uneven, hallowing out. "Dr Watson, get a nurse!" Molly heard as her vision became darkened.

"Molly, its John. Shhh you're safe I promise," he tried to soothe but it was futile.

Two more entered the room, one with a syringe the other a tall, cold man. The nurse pushed past John who was calling out to the petrified and shaking Molly. Sherlock for once in his life was speechless. He was rooted to the spot watching Molly Hooper be sedated against her will. Finally her body limped and the cries for help stopped. The nurse who administered the injection smiled sadly at no one in particular before nodding to Dr Harding and getting back to her duties.

"Dr Watson, Mr Holmes, I'm sure you are aware that she is in not for state to be allowed back into her flat alone. She's not stable enough to look after herself. She needs therapy and she needs to deal with what has happened." John's eyes flickered towards his best friend.

"What can we do to help?" Dr Harding turned to Sherlock as John posed his question.

"Nothing at this present moment, just support, she needs to know you're here for her," it didn't take a genius to know that the statement was directed to Sherlock. The nod of approval was barely there but she took it as acceptance. "I'll check on her a few more times today; we might allow her home on conditions." Dr Harding added before taking her leave.

"Don't disappear Sherlock, its tearing her apart," John said sullenly before placing his hand on Sherlock's shoulder in support. The two stood there in camaraderie for ten minutes before John too left to see Mary.


End file.
